Future
by Lauand
Summary: Sometimes, circumstances are everything.


**Title: **Future

**Author:** Lauand

**Beta:** Avierra

**Pairing:** Crawford/Schuldig

**Rating:** PG-13

**A/N:** Written for indelicateink and nuraya, because they're amazingly inspiring. I must warn you, the title might be a bit misleading. My most hearfelt thanks to avierra for the beta-reading and general awesomeness, any remaining mistake is my fault.

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><p>With time, Schuldig had become attuned to Crawford's different types of silence. This was one of the bad kind. He couldn't blame him; they were not exactly comfortable tied up and thrown in a dark cellar to rot. No minds in the vicinity to manipulate, no Farfarello around to do the dirty work for them, no nothing. It was so cliché that it made Schuldig want to puke. He didn't, though, because even though he normally would find the idea of vomiting on Crawford highly amusing, especially under the present circumstances that prevented Crawford from punching him in retaliation, this particular brand of silence was worrying him. It was a new feeling. And one that Schuldig didn't like in the least. He had always abhorred surprises. In his world, they were always the bad kind. Like Crawford's silence. Schuldig mind was starting to walk in circles and that was making him nervous. Being tied up didn't help his restlessness one bit. It was always a horrible idea to make a telepath...<p>

Crawford's movement startled him from his thoughts. To be completely honest, Crawford was much less interesting when well dressed, if only because his choice of attire was hideous. But now, even in the dim light that slid through the tiny windows (the kind that were very high from the inside but very low from the outside), Schuldig could appreciate that a Crawford in disarray was a thing of beauty. The sudden thought assaulted him: when he got out of that damned cellar, he would go to the zoo and beat one of the big cats to within an inch of their life to be able to fully appreciate the allure of a wounded beast. Then, he scratched the thought and discarded the idea, because he didn't want to be turned on by a fucking cat. He didn't need it, when a dirty, bruised Oracle was at hand, without glasses, without tie, without jacket, looking at him with scary intensity.

Crawford moved again. Not very gracefully, but Schuldig couldn't blame him. He, himself, wasn't at his best in the psychomotor coordination department right now, so he could empathize. Schuldig supposed Crawford had a plan. He didn't expect it when, after a last effort to get closer, Crawford kissed him.

"What the fuck...?"

By some miracle, Crawford kept his balance even in his awkward position after being jerked away by a freaked telepath. His face kept its determination, too.

"What?" Schuldig insisted, because worried was too mild a term for him right now.

Crawford was so close that he could feel his breath on his skin, very softly, like a lover's caress. Rhythmically, like a good fuck.

"I can't see a future."

Schuldig froze. Not the future, but a future. Suddenly he didn't want to look at Crawford anymore. He didn't want Crawford to look at him. Because he now recognized that it was not intensity as such he saw in Crawford's eyes. It was greed. The hunger of a man who knew he wouldn't eat again. Never. The longing for things lost. And Schuldig didn't want to be a lost thing. He didn't want to...

"You're shitting me."

Crawford didn't reply. Knowing he would encounter no resistance, Schuldig dove into Crawford's mind.

It was not the first time he was allowed there, but he still found it extremely confusing. Crawford's mind was orderly but extensive. Like a French palace. Everything in his place, but too much shit to keep track of when you didn't live there. Some doors were locked, some were open. Schuldig tried them all. He not only saw the void where the visions of Crawford's future should be. He also had access now to the places where Crawford stored his views on things, on people. On him. Schuldig closed his eyes and took a very deep breath. It was for nothing. He gritted his teeth.

"You fucking SON OF A BITCH!"

The proof that there was nothing wrong with Crawford's powers came when he ducked the ill-meant headbutt Schuldig attempted against his brow.

/Schuldig/

The telepathic call to reason was ignored and Schuldig wriggled against his bindings, not so much to save his life, but to beat Crawford to death. Forget big cats, forget handsome leaders, he wanted to inflict pain, he wanted to kill, he wanted...

/Schuldig/

When his mind lashed out, it encountered solid shields blocking the attack. That only enraged him further.

/Schuldig/

Little by little, his explosive fury ran out of fuel and he just lay there, exhausted, pained and dirty. He didn't want to die like that. He deserved better. He had wanted to be shot. He had earned it. He had wanted Crawford to kill him.

/Schuldig/

Again, Schuldig took a deep breath. He sensed Crawford approaching him, as clumsily and gracelessly as before.

"All these years wasted..." Schuldig said without opening his eyes, "and you fucking knew, Crawford, you knew and did nothing, and now we're both going to die and we're not even going to be able to get off, tied up as a pair of human sausages as we are. And I could kill you if I... if... I could, but the only thing you can do for me is bore me to death with all the fucking knowledge that honeycomb you have for a mind has hoarded through time and space like it could help, which it can't, because I've gotten resistant to boredom by now after all those years of you bullshitting me when you knew, you fucking knew that I was after your ass. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard."

"Kiss me."

"Fuck off."

"Kiss me."

Schuldig was still pissed. He opened his eyes. Crawford was closer than he expected. He wondered how he could have missed the body heat, the sound of his breath, the overwhelming presence attached to Crawford's very essence.

"No."

"Kiss me."

Schuldig narrowed his eyes.

"You know I'm going to bite you."

Crawford didn't waver. He was so fucking calm that Schuldig could feel the warmth of anger stirring again in his stomach.

"Yes. Kiss me."

Schuldig sighed. At least, there would be no consequences, no morning after, no awkward breakfast or mangled team-interaction. To be honest, he still would take the awkwardness over dehydration and death, but one took what one could.

"I'm not going to squirm, you do it."

Strangely compliant, Crawford moved closer, but didn't initiate contact, he just lay there on his side, gazing at him with all the seriousness he was able to muster, which was a lot, in Schuldig's opinion.

Schuldig craned forward and tried not to look at the situation from outside.

"This is stupid."

"No one is here to laugh at us."

Schuldig would have preferred to be laughed at and get into that someone's mind to break free, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"I really do hope Farfarello is wrong and there's no God, I couldn't live this down if there really is an eternal soul."

Crawford didn't reply, he just stared. Out of witticisms, Schuldig swallowed. He craned his neck forward again. This time he didn't stop. His lips grazed Crawford's. He felt him sigh. He did it again. Crawford's lips moved softly against his. They looked like teenagers in their first attempts at sap, Schuldig was sure, but he didn't give a damn, because he was kissing Brad Crawford, and Brad Crawford was kissing back. Not because he wanted something from him, not to achieve an obscure goal, but because he wanted it. It was a heady feeling. With the realization that maybe this kiss was the only kiss that had ever mattered to him, Schuldig dove fully into Crawford, tongue first. Crawford sucked him in.

They kissed for ages. Battered, caked in grim, tied and uncomfortable, they kissed. Until the frustration at being unable to touch, to grope and to fuck, reminded Schuldig of the situation, and then the anger came back and changed desperate nibbling into a full force bite. Bites hurt like a bitch, Schuldig knew from experience, but Crawford, stern Crawford, stoic, stupid, a ton of s-things Crawford, didn't even whimper. He took it like he said he would, pissing off Schuldig all the more for it. Schuldig bit again, but suddenly he couldn't do it anymore, so he stopped. He was panting, the taste of blood strong on his tongue, brow barely touching Crawford's.

"I hate you."

It had to hurt, hurt a fucking lot, but Crawford kissed him again. Schuldig let him.

After a while, they pulled apart and stared at each other. There were so many things they didn't want to say... maybe it wasn't necessary anyway. Slowly, Schuldig got near to Crawford's face and, almost shyly, he licked clean the marks his teeth had left. Again, it was impossible not to feel Crawford's sigh.

"I wish... I would have liked to shoot you, Schuldig."

"Don't poke the wound. You know it pisses me off."

Crawford hummed. He also knew that Schuldig was the kind of person who needed a reassurance he didn't really want. Telepaths were usually much simpler. He still didn't know why it had had to be Schuldig. But it had. With the confidence of a man who knows he has nothing to lose, Crawford lowered his head and kissed Schuldig's hair. Instead of gagging, Schuldig snuggled closer. Crawford smiled.

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><p>In case someone wants to know, I'll say that Crawford was wrong, or his signal blocked or whatever shit you want to make up, but the thing is that they're saved by Nagi and Farfarello, and they'll live to see a very awkward morning after (or rather, month after, even year after) with a lot of silent recriminations, horrified realization of what had transpired in that cellar and a ton of emotional conflict and even more tons of hot sex. Just in case you were wondering.<p> 


End file.
